


Stitches

by OceanTheSoulRebel



Series: A Healing Touch [1]
Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II
Genre: Blood, Descriptions of blood and injury, Gen, Hurt, Injury, Near Death Experience, lets pretend I'm not a doctor and don't know how herbal healing in Thedas would work, non-magical healing, very near
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-16
Updated: 2018-05-16
Packaged: 2019-05-07 16:25:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,177
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14674917
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OceanTheSoulRebel/pseuds/OceanTheSoulRebel
Summary: Fenris is hurt, Anders is upset, and Hawke is hesitant.





	Stitches

**Author's Note:**

> Written for DA Drunk Writing Circle on 5/11/18, prompt: "You can't expect me to leave it at that."

“You can’t expect me to just leave him like this, Hawke! He’ll bleed out before we can get him to another surgeon.”

“Anders, you know how he feels about -”

“Hawke, I’m a healer, I have to take care of him!” Anders clenched his fists as Garrett continued to stare him down, his own arms crossed. “This is ridiculous,” he snapped. “He’s going to bleed out and neither of us are going to do anything about it? That’s not going to happen.”

Anders turned to his pack, sorting through his meager supplies until he found what he needed. Arms laden with poultices and various bits of gauze, he leveled a cool stare at Hawke. “Either you help me with this or you leave, right now; I’ll take the brunt of whatever punishment the idiot declares fit.”

Fenris, with an excellent sense of timing, groaned lowly and fidgeted on the makeshift pallet of their robes, blood oozing ominously from around the ragged wooden shaft lodged deep into his upper chest. Maker, the thing was almost three fingers wide at its exposed end. How the elf still hung on was an amazing thing to behold.

Anders moved to kneel at his left side, jaw clenched at the mess. “Hawke, either you’re with me or you go,” he reminded his friend. “I need to get his armor off.” His fingers tripped over blood-soaked buckles and straps.

Hawke settled at Fenris’s right shoulder. “I’m putting it on record that he’ll be happy with neither of us,” he cautioned.

“Well, at least he’ll still be okay with you. He follows you like you’re Andraste Herself come back to Thedas. Now strip him.”

The other mage grumbled but did as he was told. “He doesn’t follow me, he just… you know… helps out.”

Anders snorted as he pulled the mangled pauldron off. “Sure. And I’m the Grand Enchanter herself.”

“Will - you nags - stop nattering?” Fenris groaned between pained breaths, batting weakly at Anders’ hands. His glossy eyes slid slowly from Anders to Hawke, a grimace distorting his face.

“No,” Anders nearly snarled. “I made a vow when I opened my clinic - I wouldn’t leave bloody, broody elves to die, no matter how much of an aggravating pain in the ass they are. Exact words, even.”

Hawke unbuckled and pulled away Fenris’s chestplate and Anders cut through the bloodsoaked linen tunic underneath to reveal the misshapen planes of his chest. A fresh wave of blood trickled from the wound.

“Anders, save him,” Hawke demanded, voice nearing a frantic crack while his wide eyes drank in the damage.  

“Glad you came around, I thought I was just going to leave him like this,” Anders grunted, forcing himself to breath. Snapping at Garrett would do no one any good, and Fenris was getting pale under his dark skin. “Garrett, I need light. And I’ll need you to hold him down.”

His eyes snapped up to Hawke, who only nodded grimly. One hand conjured magelight and cast it dancing above their heads, bathing the trio in white, flickering light  He turned his attention to placing his hands as Anders directed, holding Fenris down by the shoulders.

Fenris opened his eyes once more, dazed but focused on Anders’ own. “Please-” he breathed shakily, a horrible gasping sound rending the quiet air as he struggled against their grips. Anders cut him off with a wave of his hand before the elf could rattle off another word.

“Okay,” Anders said with a slight tremble. He shook his head forcefully and brought his focus to the task at hand. “Okay. I’m going to pull this out, clean the wound, and try to stitch him back together before he kills me. If we die, I’m going to kill you myself, both of you - this would be so much easier with magic.”

Fenris screamed and jerked as Anders pulled the wood from his shoulder and poured in a measure of clean water from his water skin, and thrashed wildly when the healer dried and packed the wound full of an elfroot poultice to stem the bleeding.

“Hand, here!”

Hawke’s fingers pressed over the wound as Anders retrieved a makeshift suture kit from his belt pouches and handed the curved needle to him. “Heat this to red hot,” he demanded. “Fenris won’t kill you if you use magic.”

Hawke traded him positions and quickly did as he asked, passing the cleaned needle back to Anders, who then threaded it with a ragged prayer. His hands were calmer than his own breaths as he took to stitching the wound, unpacking the poultice from its depth as he went.

It took longer than the cool blue light of his spells, and wasn't nearly as effective, but they finally got Fenris stitched up and bandaged, and neither of them died. Anders took that as a particularly good sign, and ignored that their patient may have simply been too weak from blood loss and other injuries to fall back to his heart-ripping reflexes.

Anders absently trailed his fingers over the elf’s battered rib cage. Fenris was wan and clammy, his exposed skin covered in a thin sheen of sweat and his own blood. Anders frowned, fingertips sussing out at least one, probably two broken ribs, and he could feel another one that was cracked and fractured. “You took a lot of damage tonight,” he muttered. “You’re not indestructible, you know. Just as mortal as the rest of us.”

He could feel Garrett’s eyes on him but Anders only looked at Fenris, drawing ragged breaths on the forest floor. “You’ve got to survive,” he said. “For Hawke’s sake, at least. The great big idiot wouldn’t know what to do without your surly presence.”

With trembling hands Anders dampened another poultice and laid it over the elf’s battered ribs, wrapping a long length of linen around his torso to keep it in place. “We should bring him to his tent, it will be more comfortable for him. We’ll need to keep watch over him tonight,” he said, not meeting Hawke’s eyes.

Together they nestled Fenris into his bedroll at camp, and Anders left Hawke on watch duty. The elf always was more comfortable with their friend, he mused, even despite Garrett’s being a mage.

On a level, Anders understood Fenris’s aversion to magic, to mages, but it never made it easier when Fenris stepped in front of a blade for any of them. “Damned elf, just let me fix you,” he muttered darkly.

Justice murmured his assent from whatever corner he lay in. _It’s only right to heal him, in thanks for his protection,_ the spirit agreed. _You can’t protect every side at once._

“Magic would make keeping him alive easier,” Anders groused under his breath. “And I’m not sure Hawke would forgive me if I let him die.”

 _It would not be just to let him die after he’s protected you,_ Justice insisted. _Your friend's opinion on the matter is irrelevant._

“No, it wouldn’t.” Anders pushed his hands through his hair, his mind full of lyrium scars and brooding frowns.

**Author's Note:**

> Comments and feedback always welcome and appreciated!
> 
> Come hang out with me on Tumblr! I do DA Drunk Writing Circle prompt fills on Fridays. Check out my prompt list: [ Prompts Menu](https://ocean-in-my-rebel-soul.tumblr.com/Prompts-Menu). Send one in and I'll fill it!


End file.
